


Fists and Honey

by AidaRonan



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Feelings Realization, Fluff, M/M, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: "When did you know?" Sam asks Bucky, sending him back to 1938 and the feeling of Steve's lips on the back of his neck.





	Fists and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://twitter.com/fadefilter/status/1121460080728109056).

They’re drunk when Sam asks Bucky the question. Or Sam is drunk anyway, hand wrapped loosely around the neck of a sweating bottle. Bucky’s just buzzed maybe, or possibly nothing but pleasantly tired after a few nights of letting Steve keep him up.

He watches Sam pull the bottle up for another sip, fingers tracing through the rings of condensation on the table to draw abstract patterns on the surface. Sam glances up, and Bucky follows his gaze across the mansion’s open living space to find Rhodey, laughing at something Pepper said lovingly but obviously still at Tony’s expense.  
  
The look on Sam’s face is fond, one Bucky can read easily for how often he’s looked just as dopey over some other certain someone currently elsewhere in the large room.

“When did you know?” Sam asks, startling when Rhodey looks up and catches him staring. His eyes flash back down to the table. More patterns—wavy lines and swirling spirals that slowly dry in the air and disappear.  
  
Bucky doesn’t have to ask for clarification. He finds Steve sitting with Thor, Natasha sprawled over both of their laps, looking every bit like she’s asleep. She’s not. Bucky taught her that once Before, how to fake sleep. Of course, he only knows because he’s seen her do it a million times and because he’s also seen her sleep for real, several times with her mouth open and drooling on Barton’s chest or, once, Hill’s.

Steve’s very much awake, gesturing wildly while he talks to Thor about something that could either be the importance of universal healthcare or just how much he loves Prismacolor products. Steve only has two settings for passion: none and all—he doesn’t know the meaning of lukewarm and never has.

Bucky’s grateful Steve put him on his list of passions at ten years old and never took him off.

“You gonna answer or are you too busy?” Sam asks.

“What? And you aren’t?”

“Was it after he punched someone for your honor or something?” Sam tips the bottle up and actually shakes out the last couple of drops. Tearing his eyes away from Rhodey, Sam focuses on the tub full of drinks sitting in the middle of the living room table. He sighs and leans back in his seat.

“Is that what happened for you?” Bucky teases. “Someone insulted all birds everywhere and Rho-”

“Alright alright, I deserved that,” Sam says. “I’m with you, Elsa. You’re nobody’s damsel.”

“Neither are you,” Bucky says. “And I don’t think you need me to convince you that you like the guy.”

Sam scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. A big yawn after that, one that seems to travel around the room, catching Barton first and then Pepper and Tony both.

“You know, Barnes, sometimes people just ask questions as part of a friendship. Get to know your friend a little better as your friendship progresses. Simple conversation because talking to other humans is sometimes nice, though why I ever think that’s gonna be true with you is beyond me.”

Bucky smiles at Sam. Sam smiles back and raises an eyebrow, a wordless, _you gonna tell me or what?_

“You want another beer?” Bucky asks. 

“Kind of. But they’re, you know, over there.” Sam gestures vaguely at the tub, the drinks all sitting much lower now that the ice has partially melted.

“I got it.” Bucky retrieves two, trying his luck on one of the bottles Thor brought from home and swiping another Modelo for Sam.

“I take back everything shitty I ever said about you, Barnes,” Sam says, cracking open the bottle. “Or at least the shit I said to your face.”

“Moment I knew wasn’t much different than this, I guess.” Bucky takes a sip. The Asgardian beer is surprisingly smooth for being a lot more alcohol than, well, whatever else goes in beer. Water? Grains? “It was ‘38. The day wasn’t special, just us and a couple friends over drinking shitty gin in the kitchen. Prohibition was way over, but people still made stuff at home.”

Sam hums quietly, pressing the beer bottle against his forehead.  
  
“Stark, this place not have air?” Wilson says, and Tony raises a middle finger in his direction before asking his latest AI to ‘crank it down a couple.’

“Go on.” Sam motions with his hand, clearly trying not to keep staring at Rhodey, avoidinga jump over the line between enamored and creepy.

Bucky goes on.

* * *

It’s 1938, and Isaac and his fella are there. Christ, what’s his fucking name? Bucky should know this, has only been introduced to him three different times, but he’s got one of those names that doesn’t really stick—John or Joe or something, and okay Bucky’s got no room to talk when his name is fucking James, but still.  
  
“Jackie, you gotta stop telling that joke,” Isaac says, but he’s smiling fondly with one hand on Jack’s arm. Bucky can’t stop staring at it. It makes something inside of him sink, sick and twisting, and he can’t explain why. It ain’t that they’re both fellas. Bucky figured out a long time ago that fellas turned his head same as dames. He’s kissed men. He’s done more than kiss men.

Why is this making him feel like this then? Is it Isaac? Or maybe what’s-his-face? Jealousy, but of which one?

Jack finishes the joke, and Steve throws his head back, laughing at the ceiling, one hand settling across his gut.

“Stevie,” Bucky says softly. Because Steve can’t stop laughing long enough to catch his breath, wheezing and shaking with it, and is he having one of his-  
  
But Steve’s fine. Bucky watches him take a few deep breaths and another small sip of gin. It’s maybe the first time he’s seen Steve drunk in such a small space. He’s bought him the occasional beer when they went out, seen him get tipsy on some of their less-disastrous double dates. But here alone in their kitchen is a different story. Steve is completely relaxed, all his hackles down.

Bucky smiles.

“See, Bucky thinks it’s funny too,” Jack says, winking at Bucky across the table. Nothing, not a stir of butterflies or that deep, swooping feeling that means his body is gonna start begging for something a little more meaty than a hug.

If he was into the guy at all, he’d feel something, right?  
  
So maybe it’s Isaac then?

Bucky makes eye contact with him, Isaac’s leg bouncing a bit where he’s sitting with his drink. He smiles at Bucky, bright and happy because it’s just that kind of night. And he’s with his fella somewhere besides home but doesn’t have to hide, and the Depression is finally easing up, and everything seems promising somehow in a way it didn’t before. Maybe the world will finally settle down for a little while and just let them be.

Bucky smiles back. Nothing. Not a stir.

Jack tells another terrible joke that sends Steve and Bucky both into a fit of gin giggles. Isaac counters with one that’s even better.

Later, when Isaac and Jack are long-gone, Bucky crawls into bed. He’s floating, the gin still buzzing quietly beneath his skin like the hum of a distant song. Steve follows him in—alcohol always makes Steve like this, tactile and warm.

“Stevie,” Bucky whines, half-asleep and whole-drunk. But he’s already pressing back into the warmth of Steve’s small body.

That’s when he feels Steve’s lips on the back of his neck, a soft press of them right there on Bucky’s nape, a quiet smack that makes the action unmistakable. That quiet noise knocks Bucky out of orbit, sending him careening wildly into space.  
  
Oh.

Clarity zings through Bucky—a simple thing, but so cutting—like a playing card thrown by a tornado. Suddenly the feeling he had seeing Isaac and Jack and their quiet intimacy makes complete sense. Christ, how has he never realized? Not even once in all those years being terrified that Steve would die and leave him, that Steve would get his face punched in so much he couldn’t stand back up again, that Steve would find a dame and-  
  
“I could take you” Steve says softly, wet lips leaving minute trails of saliva in the baby hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Two punches.”

Bucky smiles, his entire heart beating rapidly while he comes to terms with the fact that he’s been in love with this adorable, scrappy bastard since they were kids.

And the truth is Steve could take him. And maybe he only could because Bucky would never raise a fist against him or because Steve knows all of Bucky’s weaknesses, but it doesn’t matter.

“I know,” Bucky says, finding Steve’s arm wrapped around his middle and lacing their fingers together, all the nooks and crannies of his brain too filled in with alcohol for him to worry about how this might play out in the morning. For him to worry about what it would mean to be with Steve versus Dottie or Vera Lynn or Mae from around the corner.

They’ll be just like Isaac and Jack, bachelors forever, whispers at their backs, smiling broadly when they find those small safe spaces where no one cares what they are or who they love.

“You wanna fight?” Steve mumbles, nestling in behind him. He feels like sunshine streaming through the windows on a spring afternoon, and Bucky wants to curl up in that space like a happy little cat.

“With you? Not a chance. We just established that you’d win, pal.”

“Wise. I’d give you a couple’a blinkers. Buck the Raccoon”

He’s still talking with his lips pressed right against Bucky’s skin, every movement and sound vibration humming through Bucky’s body.

“Stevie?”

“Mhm?”

The world blurs together, and Bucky doesn’t remember turning over, shifting around to face Steve within the unfinished circle of Steve’s arm. But there they are, staring into each others’ eyes. And there are the butterflies he was looking for earlier, and the swooping feeling too—all of it together turning his insides into Coney Island during the peak of the busy season.

They’re kissing before Bucky knows it’s happening, Steve’s unusually large hand gripping the back of his neck like he’s afraid Bucky will stop if he doesn’t hold on for dear life. Bucky feels the energy of it surge through him, flowing along his nerves from his lips down to the tips his toes.

Or maybe that’s just Steve’s icy feet pressing against his, stealing his warmth.

It doesn’t matter either way.

He loves him and now he knows it. And maybe they’ll be like Isaac and Jack, always hiding, living life on the fringes. Maybe they won’t last like this even though Bucky can’t fathom any other ending for them in this moment. Maybe a lot of things.

But if the alternative is not having Steve’s short fingernails digging into his nape, Steve kissing him the exact same way that he fights—without pulling even a single passionate punch—well, fuck it. Bucky can live on whatever fringe he needs to.

* * *

“Well shit,” Sam says, emptying the rest of the Modelo into his mouth. “I’m sending you the bill next time I see my dentist, Barnes.”

Bucky can’t help but look at Steve where he’s leaning back against the couch with his eyes closed, muttering low to Thor and Nat. Sweet Christ, he’s gorgeous. Then again, he’s never not been. He was gorgeous when he was 300 pounds of spit and vinegar packed into 90 pounds of righteous rage. He was gorgeous when they shoved him into spandex and sucked him into the wartime PR machine. And he’s gorgeous now, with his hair and beard both full of golden honey that Bucky can almost taste when he kisses him.

Bucky doesn’t turn back to Sam until he hears another voice in their space, which is saying a lot. Bucky never thought there’d be a time when he’d relax enough to let another person sneak up on him, but the mansion has become a place he feels safe enough, a place all of them feel safe enough, even after everything they’ve been through.

Bucky looks back over and finds Rhodey squatting down beside Sam’s chair so that they’re nearly eye-level. He can’t help the smile that settles across his face when he sees them that close, angled toward each other. Then Rhodey puts his hand on Sam’s forearm, and Bucky feels nothing but quiet happiness. That happiness swellswhen Sam grins wide enough to show the cute little gap in his front teeth.

Get yours, Sammy.

“I’m gonna take one of Tony’s fancy self-driving cars andventure out for some shitty takeout. You wanna come?” Rhodey asks.

“Yeah, I could probably use some shitty takeout right now.” Sam turns to Bucky. “What about you, Barnes?” he asks, looking immediately like he regrets letting the question come out of his mouth. His eyes widen, begging Bucky not to take him up on it.  
  
_Please_ _do not do this_ _, Barnes. I will_ _murder_ _you._

Bucky smiles and flicks his eyes to where Rhodey’s hand still sits on Sam’s forearm.

“I think I’ll stick around here. You know, you’d think after all that cryo, I wouldn’t need to sleep ever again, but-.” Bucky does a pretty convincing fake yawn and shrugs.  
  
Sam texts Bucky a heart-eyes emoji and a photo of a container of lo mein half an hour later. Bucky’s already in bed with Steve at that point, the two of them pressed tightly together like the plates in Bucky’s arm. He sends Sam back a thumbs-up emoji and an arm-flexing emoji, then tosses his phone onto the night stand, shutting his eyes and focusing on the warmth that is Steve, their future so much different than Bucky could have imagined—still theirs though for all the times that it’s sometimes better and sometimes worse than any prospect they might have imagined in 1938.  
  
Right before Bucky passes out, he feels Steve’s lips brush against the back of his neck.

“I could kick your ass,” Steve says, planting a small trail of kisses from Bucky’s hairline to the top knob of his spine.

Bucky smiles, warm and fond and happy. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter [@BiStarBucky](https://twitter.com/BiStarBucky/status/1121790533637218304).


End file.
